


Last Year They Got Him a Book

by counterheist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cats!, Fade to Black, M/M, mushy fluff-mush, spain is a sneaky bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spain gets a curiously grumpy kitten for his birthday. But when he wakes up, he finds something much different in his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Year They Got Him a Book

**Author's Note:**

> This is a hybrid between a birthday fic for Spain and a Valentine’s fic, since I don’t have the time to do both. So. Happy Birthentine’s Spain!

They placed the wrapped box in front of him together, with twin grins, despite the fact they looked nothing alike. France’s hand on the left side, Prussia’s on the right. Something in their smiles made Spain wary, but not wary enough to hesitate before opening the box. Not wary enough to ask about all the choppy holes and slashes in the wrapping. Not even wary enough to ask why the box was moving on its own.

“You’ll love this present,” France tapped the side of the box. “I promise.”

Prussia pulled away from the gift as quickly as he could and hid his arms behind his back. “Yeah, what he said. So…” he took a step back, “now that we’ve given it to you…” another step, “youshouldopenitafterwegobye!”

And he was off through the door before Spain could say “thank you!” How strange.

France sighed. “Prussia is only bitter that it doesn’t like him.” His smile froze. “Not that it likes anything. Well. You’ll see. But all the same, I really must be going. Do enjoy your present.” He left with much less haste than Prussia had, but he ignored Spain’s thanks all the same. He ignored Spain’s questions too, but most people tended to. Spain was pretty good at finding out his own answers after a while because of that.

The box hissed.

Now that was really strange. “Mr. Box? What’s inside you?”

The box wriggled. And hissed again.

Spain didn’t bother waiting for the box to answer him, because he didn’t speak hiss anyway, and tore through first the wrapping paper and then the cardboard itself. For his troubles, he was bitten.

As he was bitten by an adorable fuzzy kitten wearing a bright red oversized bow, Spain didn’t really mind. He picked the cat up and held it close ( _after making sure his finger wasn’t bleeding_ ). “You… you are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen some really cute things in my life, okay, so maybe you aren’t the _cutest_ thing I’ve ever seen, I’ll really get in trouble if I say that and anybody finds out, but you’re definitely the cutest cat I’ve ever seen, aren’t you yes _youuuu_ —”

The cat bit him on the nose. And hissed. Spain detected a pattern starting, but the chubby little kitten with its chubby little paws, and its scrunched up, grumpy little face and its strangely long strand of fur were difficult for him to resist. It was adorable. And familiar. He couldn’t place _why_ it was familiar, but it was, and he promised in his heart to love the little kitten forever ( _or at least until it died, which would be very soon compared to the lifetime of a nation, but Spain never liked thinking about those sorts of things_ ).

“Now, first things first.” The real first things involved making sure the kitten knew that biting people wasn’t very nice if they hadn’t asked first. But Spain couldn’t do that without the other first thing. “What should I call you?” He couldn’t call the kitten Mr. Box. That was too silly. And he couldn’t call it The Kitten forever; that was even sillier!

Spain thought about it, but the decision was made for him when the kitten yowled at him and scrabbled in his hands. “You want to be let down?”

It did. And once it was down on the ground, it used its little claws to turn the hems of Spain’s jeans into coarse ribbons. But then it began to rub its back against Spain’s chilly legs, and the noise it made was more like a content purr than a hiss. And Spain had an idea.

“I’ll call you Romano!”

Romano the cat was not a very happy cat. It was sad to have to say, but it was true. Romano the cat was probably the angriest cat Spain had ever met. He hissed when Spain held him close. He hissed when Spain backed away. He clawed when Spain put him on a pillow. He yowled when Spain pulled the pillow to safety. He hissed, clawed _and_ yowled when Spain checked to see whether he was a ‘he’ or a ‘her’. Spain was running out of bandages quickly, and no matter how much he liked Romano, that was clearly Romano’s fault.

“Ah, Romano…”

The cat, very pointedly, did not look at Spain. Instead he swished his tail back and forth before returning his attentions ( _and claws_ ) to Spain’s brightest yellow curtains.

“Romano… you like fish don’t you? Here.” Spain grabbed Romano the cat securely around the middle and yanked him away from the tattered brocade. Maybe Veneziano could salvage it…? “If you stop destroying everything, I’ll make you some fish, how does that sound?”

Romano hissed and tried to bite Spain again. He didn’t quite manage, because by the time he twisted his head around to get at Spain’s apparently delicious fingers, Spain had already set him down on the kitchen counter.

“Alright! It’s Boss and…” Spain’s smile dimmed, “It’s Boss and his miniature henchman’s time to make a birthday feast! You can guard the ingredients while I go get your fish, Roma.” Spain wandered off into the recesses of his pantry. He always kept it fully stocked, because he got lots of visits from everybody, it felt like, and everybody liked every different kind of food ( _except Romano the nation, who said he only liked Proper Italian Cuisine, but even then Spain didn’t think he was telling the truth_ ). There was definitely some fish lying around somewhere.

After he found the fish, which had been lying around somewhere near a basket of onions, Spain returned to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind salt Romaaaa—Ah!”

Romano the cat sniffed, sort of, but that might have been the flour covering his fur getting into his nose. Or maybe it was a reaction to the crushed tomatoes underneath his paws or the crumpled leaves of basil he was munching on, or the rest of the half-eaten ingredients he had either knocked to the ground or turned into a nest and sat on.

Spain the nation dropped his fish. Spain the nation had a bad temper, sometimes, even though he tried his best to hide it. But Spain the nation couldn’t discipline Romano the cat when he was looking up with those little brown innocent eyes. Little brown innocent eyes that said ‘hey bastard, what’re _you_ looking at? And give me my fish, dammit!’

“I can’t give you your fish anymore Romano, you’ve been a very bad cat!” Spain made sure to keep his line of vision far above Romano the cat’s head, ignored the angry yowling and did his best to look stern. He even waggled his finger imperiously when he remembered how Austria always used to scold Veneziano when they had been younger. “Clean this up immedi— or. Uh. You’d better watch me clean this up right now or else I won’t feed you anything else until tomorrow!”

Romano the cat hissed, jumped down from the counter, and smashed his furry, floury head against Spain’s shin. Then he began to cry ( _yowl_ ) and Spain felt his heart turn to mush, the strict finger be damned.

“Shh, Roma, don’t cry.” He picked the cat up. “…Or bite me again.” Romano bit him. But not very hard. “How about we have a bath, and then the kitchen will have a bath, and then we’ll have a siesta, and we can eat later!”

The plan was perfect, mostly because Spain had locked all his doors, closed all his curtains and had conveniently left his phone and his computer in his car. He’d requested a day off for his birthday and whether the world liked it or not, they were giving him one.

Romano the cat dragged his paw against Spain’s shirt. “Mrow.”

An hour later, Spain fell onto his bed sideways and didn’t bother taking off his clothes. Romano the cat didn’t like baths almost as much as he liked biting and clawing and yowling. Spain’s arms had acquired a fine red crosshatch shading somewhere along the way, and he needed a nap more than anything. The kitchen could wait. Despite hardship, bad tempers and blood loss, Spain still held Romano in his arms. Romano smelled like wet, angry, wriggling cat, of course, but he was cute even like that and secretly Spain knew the biting hadn’t been drawing blood since he’d taken Romano out of his box.

Still, Romano didn’t like being held. Not one bit, and he made his displeasure known to Spain by scratching whatever part of Spain he could find. “Mrowr!”

“Ahhh… Roma…couldn’t you be nice while Boss has his nap?” Romano the cat hissed. “It’s…” Spain’s eyes felt thick, “it’s my birthday today…” and before he knew it, he didn’t know anything at all.

When the great big stupid loud thing went still, its grip loosened. Romano the cat made a break for it.

\- - - - -

Spain woke up because a voice told him to “wake the fuck up you idiot, do you even know how to treat your guests?” But the voice didn’t say anything about opening his eyes, so Spain held Romano the cat a little bit closer and snuggled into his warm blankets. Maybe the voice would go away…

It didn’t. Instead it got closer, much closer, and from the little exhales it felt like it was speaking directly into Spain’s ear. Huh. “You fucking moron. Let go of me.”

Even though he didn’t want to, Spain opened his eyes. He saw eyes looking right back at him, along with a familiar curl. Wait.

Wait.

Spain rolled over in a hurry, propped himself on his elbows above his bedmate and couldn’t believe it. “Romano, is that really you?”

Romano wished he’d stayed at home. He could have mailed his gift. He could have not bothered to get a gift at all. Why had he bothered to get a gift at all, when it was so obvious that Spain was too stupid to notice? “Who else would it be?”

A thought occurred to Romano.

“Are you _expecting_ somebody, huh? Somebody who isn’t me? In your bedroom? Naked? In your bed? Because if you are, _please_ , tell me so I can fucking **kill you** you stupid lying cheating son of a bitch I hate you how dare you do this to me you shitfaced smalldicked fishfucking—”

Spain put a hand over Romano’s mouth. Wow. He even _sounded_ real ( _he even **flailed**_ ). But why had Romano the cat become human? Spain didn’t remember making any birthday wishes other than ‘please get in the tub, Roma…’ and Romano had done that, eventually, once Spain had jumped in too and had stopped him from crawling out. “Shh, you don’t need to say anything, Romano. I know this must be really weird for you. But Boss promises to help you no matter what!”

Romano muttered something that would have been “you bastard” if Spain’s hand was somewhere other than Romano’s mouth.

“What was that?”

Romano the nation punched Spain the nation in the neck. He almost ran out of the room ( ** _not_** _crying_ ), except when Spain fell off the bed he dragged Romano down with him. Story of Romano’s life. “I said you’re a fucking bastard, bastard! F-fuck, ‘I know this must be really weird for you’? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is that supposed to be some sort of fucking consolation prize after you go and fuck around with other people?” On the inside, Romano wanted to take his gift and leave. And maybe piss on Spain’s house again. Maybe piss _in_ Spain’s house, because it had been a long drive and this way he could get two things done at once. On the outside, Romano’s eyes began to mist.

Despite his instincts telling him something had magically turned his birthday kitten into a naked cursing sex kitten ( _also for his birthday?_ ), Spain decided that maybe he needed to be skeptical. “So you’re _not_ the cat France and Prussia gave me for my birthday, but turned into a human that looks a lot like Romano my old protectorate, except for confused and naked? I just wanted to check that.” He blinked. “Who’s cheating?”

“You are!” Romano digested the other things Spain had said. “And what the _hell_ have you been smoking? Did Netherlands actually give you a gift this year?”

He hadn’t, if Romano was implying that the joint gift that always came from the Netherlands and Belgium wasn’t really from both the Netherlands and Belgium. That made how the card was always written in Belgium’s handwriting ( _including Netherlands’s signature_ ) make a lot of sense. Oh… “I haven’t been smoking anything, Roma. I just thought you were my cat.”

“You don’t have a cat.” Or, apparently, any sanity.

But that was wrong! If Romano was really Romano, and not Romano the cat, then Romano the cat had to be somewhere. He was probably tearing up priceless tapestries. “Yes I do, Roma. I got him for my birthday. And I named him Romano!”

Stupid things like this happened to Romano all the time. He wished they wouldn’t. “How many people did you tell to give you a cat for your birthday?”

Spain yawned and pulled himself back onto his bed before answering. If Romano was going to ( _nag_ ) ask lots of questions, then Spain would rather be comfortable. And in order to be really comfortable, he took off his clothes and pulled Romano up next to him. After a little rearranging and a little silent arguing, Spain settled his chin on the top of Romano’s head. “Everyone who asked what I wanted.”

Romano kicked him in the leg. “Well that’s fucking fantastic then, isn’t it.”

“Huh?”

“You _still_ haven’t noticed?” was what Romano said. For once Spain heard, ‘why are you such a moron?’

“That’s not a nice thing to say to the birthday boy, Romano.” Romano snorted. Spain acquiesced. “Birthday nation. It doesn’t matter. But you can’t expect me to realize something if you haven’t told me what it is. That doesn’t make any sense.” For once, Romano heard, ‘I’m not antagonizing you, I just don’t understand what you’re saying and I’m really only nodding because when I do you get naked faster!’

“Pervert. Are you really too stupid to realize there’s a goddamn cat sitting on your head?”

Spain did not dignify that with an answer, because it made the cat smell and the weird weight all make incredible sense. Lots of things made sense when Romano took the time to explain them. “There’s a what…?” He looked up. A furry face looked down.

They smiled at each other.

They purred at each other. Until Romano jabbed Spain in the ribs because even if no one else was around, it was really embarrassing to watch. “You asked for a stupid cat, so I got you the stupidest cat I could find.” Spain picked the cat off his head and held it in his arms. The cat appeared to enjoy being cradled immensely, which Spain enjoyed, which the cat registered and enjoyed too, which… “He kept running into the bars on his cage when I saw him, so I knew you would get along because you’re both painfully idiotic.” Spain and his newest cat began purring together again. “…the shelter people said he was just really spirited and affectionate and shit.”

Spain and the lump of happy cat in his arms sighed. “He’s perfect! Thank you, Roma!”

Bastard wasn’t even paying attention. “It spent the entire drive humping my arm. I already used your shower. That’s the only reason why I’m in here with you, since I can’t do anything else while my clothes are in the wash.”

“But Romano, don’t you have spares?”

Of all the times to pick to be observant… “No.”

“Oh. Alright!” Spain turned his attention back to his newest friend. “And what should _your_ name be?”

“I’ve been calling him Dipshit.” Romano flicked one of Dipshit’s ears. “Since he reminds me of you.”

“Hmm?” Spain tried to think of why the cat would remind Romano of him. What could it be… “But I’ve never… oh…” But that had only been a few times! “Still, that’s not a very good name. How about… hmmmm, how about we let him pick for himself! Or even better, Romano can pick for him! They’re going to be best friends now, so they should get along.”

It was sad, but Romano immediately knew Spain was talking about the other dumb cat he’d gotten. “Cats don’t speak. Which means either this one stays Dipshit or becomes ‘Meow’ or something equally ridiculous.”

“Roma’s more of a yowler, really.”

Romano had not driven for hours and hours with a horny cat in the seat next to him only to get to Spain’s house and sit around chatting about cats. Spain was supposed to get Dipshit, like him, put him somewhere else, and then be really fucking thankful to Romano for a few hours, before Romano could get him ready for the rest of their date in the evening. It was how Spain’s birthdays had gone for a long time, and Romano hated having to change the routines he liked. “Look, I don’t care what you call the cat. I don’t care about the cat.” The cat’s eyes widened. Its purring slowed. “How about you let the damn thing wander off to catch mice in some other room, and then you thank me properly for such a thoughtful gift? That sound good to you?”

Spain started purring again, because Spain had begun tickling his ears, and Romano would probably laugh when he found out what Spain had decided Dipshit’s new name should be, but that didn’t matter. Spain looked like he liked it. “Who’s a good kitty?”

“It’s the cat or me.”

Romano loved making Spain make difficult decisions. But Spain the cat understood, or so Spain the nation thought, and he jumped down off the bed without a second meow. He padded through the door without scratching anything, and when something downstairs in the pantry yowled in distress, Spain the nation knew that he and Romano the nation weren’t going to be bothered any time soon. It was really nice that Spain’s pets all got along so well. “Does this mean I get my real present now?”

The ceiling hadn’t always been wood paneled, had it? Had Spain switched his bedrooms without saying anything? …shit, Spain’s attention span was contagious. Romano had been rolled on his back again, and all he could think about was the décor. “I got you your fucking cat.” Literally.

“ _Roma_ …” Spain grinned and leaned forward. “You know that’s not my real present.” He let his breath tickle Romano’s ear for a change, this side of things was fun, he could see why Romano liked doing it, and slowly covered Romano’s hands with his own. “ _So_?”

He could argue the point, but Spain always asked, so there wasn’t really a point anyway. Romano knew what he wanted. He was slightly thrilled because of what Spain wanted, what he always wanted for his birthday, and it might have played a large part into why Romano hadn’t bothered digging out a new shirt from his spare closet across the hall. “…Happy Birthday. You are amazing and wonderful, and handsome and sexy.” Even though he’d been anticipating it, the words were still foreign to say. But Spain liked hearing them, and Romano could feel that like diffusing through the entire room. “And you aren’t dumb at all, and when I say that I don’t really mean it.”

Spain sighed in bliss. “Roma…” He gathered Romano into his arms and held him tight, because no matter what else Spain asked for his birthday, there was always this. And Romano knew it.

And Romano knew what else was coming, what always followed. “I refuse.”

Spain didn’t believe him. It showed in the smile on his face and in the way one of his arms peeled away from Romano’s side to search over towards the bedside table. It showed in the kiss Spain pressed to the edge of Romano’s jaw. It showed in every dusty sunbeam that pierced through the curtains from the outside.

And since it was Spain’s birthday, and only because it was Spain’s birthday, Romano supposed he had to give in. “AndI’msohotforyoutakemenowEspaña I said it okay? Are you happy now?”

_POP_

Romano felt a cold slippery hand run over the back of his thighs.

“Mmmhmm.” Spain stashed the bottle under his pillow just in case. “I’m really really really happy, Roma. But,” he began to massage Romano’s sides, “I think I’m going to be even happier in a few minutes.”

“I…” he had to pause, it had just started, he couldn’t say anything stupid yet. At all. Ever. “I can see that. Feel.” So much for not saying anything stupid.

Spain grinned.

\- - - - -

Once Romano decided they had spent enough time cuddling in each other’s arms, he let Spain have ten more minutes. Because it was his birthday. After that ten minutes, Romano tried to roll out of Spain’s grasp, couldn’t, and settled on lightly hitting Spain in the chest. His arms were too tired for anything else. “Now get up. We have reservations for ten and it’s going to take at _least_ four hours to make you presentable.”

“No.”

“What?”

Spain’s reply was the content cross of a hum and a whisper. Romano didn’t know how he did it, and didn’t particularly care. The reverberations against his back made Romano’s chest do strange things. “I don’t want to eat out tonight.”

He could have fucking _said_ something about that eight months earlier when Romano had used every bit of clout he had to threaten Spain’s most popular restaurant into giving them the entire building to themselves for the night. “Fuck you.”

Romano always knew what he was thinking. Spain loved that. “That’s what I had in mind.” He yawned, a little, and thought about extending his nap a few more hours. He hoped Spain and Romano were keeping themselves occupied. “But in the middle you can make me something to eat too. I like your cooking.”

Where was the trick? Th-there had to be a trick. Right? “…thanks.”

He could feel Roma’s neck getting warm. Roma didn’t know Spain knew about that tell. But he did. “But you have to wear the apron.”

His neck got warmer. “…I hate you.”

“I love you too! And remember,” Spain kissed the back of Romano’s wonderfully, adorably affectionate neck. “ _Just_ the apron.”

“I hate you so much.”

No matter how much Romano the nation yowled, Spain knew he would figure out the meaning eventually. “I know you do.”

“Good.” When Spain didn’t do anything in response, didn’t say anything, didn’t shift his hands, Romano squirmed. “G-good. You’d better know. And I’ll hate you especially in two days. When you come over to my house.”

“ _Your_ house?” They’d never spent Valentine’s at Romano’s house before.

“Yeah, _my_ house, what about it?” Spain better not dodge out on Valentine’s day, a stupid birthday dinner was always negotiable, but if Spain ruined _these_ plans, then Romano would have to retaliate. Possibly with vipers. Or with recordings of Germany’s awful, stupid, long-winded speeches. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

Spain pulled Romano closer. “No! No… I’m not. It’s. You really want to go to your house? In front of all of your people? In public? Around your people?”

Oh. So Spain had picked up on that. “…don’t read too much into it.” _Read into it as far as your tiny mind can, you stupid fucking idiot, I’m trying to make a dramatic statement here. Shit! How much does it take to make you fall all over yourself in love and appreciation?! You used to do that when I dusted and didn’t break stuff, you moron!_

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“…Really?”

“ **Yes.** ”

Spain licked his lips. “Oh.” He sneaked one hand underneath his pillow. “Hey Roma?”

“What?”

“You don’t actually need to go back to your house until sometime in the middle of Valentine’s Day, right? That’s when you have everything planned down to how you’re going to fuss over my tie?”

How did he know about that? “Maybe.”

“Good.” Spain nodded to himself before pulling Romano into a kiss. “My schedule’s clear too.”

Romano felt the hand at his ass and did Spain ever even get tired? “O-oh.” For that matter, did he ever realize how fucking unnecessary it was to do the three fingers thing after the fourth damn round?

“But I,” he gasped lightly when Romano began to circle two fingers around the tip of his cock. “I want you to be comfortable.” ( _…fuck he’d said it out loud._ )

Sometimes, when Spain felt just _so_ ( _usually after a good orgasm or two_ ), he said things that made Romano want to either hide in the bathroom or get fucked against the pillows a few more times. Since it was Spain’s birthday, Romano would let him choose.

“I fucking said,” hours earlier, yes, but Spain had a good memory when he wasn’t playing the idiot, “ _take me now_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Making Romano say OOC things is so much fun. Making Spain a perv is fun too.
> 
> Making them have sex is also fun, but unfortunately this didn’t quite manage to be anything beyond the implication. Oh well, you guys have A+ imaginations. You get the gist ( _it’s a sexy gist_ ).
> 
> What are Spaincat and Romacat doing by the end of this? You can pick whatever you want and I promise only to judge you a little bit. B\
> 
> "But that had only been a few times!:" a few times humping Romano's arm, of course! I feel as though this should be explored further, but probably because the hour is late and I am silly.
> 
> "It spent the entire drive humping my arm:" alternatively, Spaincat was holding on for dear life. Bad driver? What are you fucking talking about, Italy Romano drives like a pro. Spaincat's just clingy and horny ~~and has made his feline peace with the world in the event of automotive peril~~.
> 
> Also: Happy Spain’s Birthentines! ♥


End file.
